What Have They Done to the Rain
by GondorCalling
Summary: fem!America, Photographer!England- Arthur Kirkland is a British photographer traversing North America in a blue Volkswagen Beetle. Amelia Jones is a penniless hitch hiker with only 3 rolls of film, a camera, and a binding promise to her name. When they meet on the back roads of Quebec will just a small favor flourish into a life changing journey? Of course it will.
1. Cloudy with a chance of rain

Hey! This is a fanfic I've been working on in my little red note book for a while now. Only now have I decided to post it though. Please review and tell me your thoughts! So sorry about any mistakes, for some reason when I copy 'n paste onto the doc manager it mixes up words and phrases.

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Just a little boy standing in the rain

The gentle rain that falls for years  
And the grass is gone, the boy disappears  
And rain keeps falling like helpless tears  
And what have they done to the rain

-What have they done to the rain, The Searchers

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Arthur Kirkland drove along the bumpy, pockmarked road. Ahead of him was the bumpy outline of mountains and beside him was the grand Saint Lawrence River. His blue Volkswagen was the only car on the road. Above him, the sky was dark grey. The overcast heavens were just waiting to unleash a maelstrom on the Earth where the sun refused to shine.

Then he saw it. He had found the spot.

Earlier, sitting in a diner much like all the other diners, he overheard two men discussing a spot along this road that was absolutely perfect for photography. When Arthur took postcard perfect photos he usually gave much of the credit to his gut feelings. When he looked through the view finder he would only make the shutters close when he had that feeling within his gut that told him, "This is it. You've got it." And this was another location just waiting to be captured.

Arthur pulled his automobile onto the side of the road next to the St. Lawrence. He slammed the door loudly and heard the sound echo into the peaceful, oblivion around him. Maybe it was the way that the water seemed to travel on forever towards the mountains, or maybe it was how it

reflected the sky perfectly; Arthur didn't know. Quebec was many things and beautiful was certainly one of the words you could use to describe it, but this view; this was something he could never dream of seeing. Arthur walked around to the back of his Volkswagen's boot and opened it up, pulling out his photography equipment. First he took out his tripod stand and began to set it to exactly the right height when he felt a fat drop of water hit his head.

"Dammit!" He cursed. Just his luck, right as he got everything out it decided to pour down on him. Mother Nature certainly pulled no punches, for by the time he had stuffed everything back in the trunk of his small car and stowed himself in the driver's seat, he was already sopping. The roar of thunder was all around him and the patter of heavy drops hitting the windshield invaded his senses. A strike of lightening flashed through the sky, illuminating everything, and another clap of thunder actually shook the car. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a weary sigh, the rain reminded him of England. Home. He had owned a small, yet successful bookshop in the small village of Midsummer where everyone's business was their own and no one stuck their noses in other people's lives; unless they were invited in that was.

Then _he_ came along. That accursed man. He was a Frenchman, a foreigner, staying in the village to paint the marvelous landscape. Francis passed by his shop every day, always being polite (but not too polite) always saying what needed to be said (without saying too much) and just as Arthur was flipping the closed sign to open at exactly 10:45 A.M he would see the man walk by. He was the prettiest man Arthur had ever seen, the stubble on his chin wasn't too noticeable and never seemed to look messy and his long blonde hair bounced and shone in the bright sun. He would sit across the street for hours on end with his large sketchbook and paints. Every so often he would look up from his place on his stool and stare at the book store. It was infuriating. Then there was the first time he entered the shop. Under his arm he carried a large, rolled sheet of paper. He browsed without a word and finally approached Arthur, looking to purchase a book on Mozart. "So the artist has good music taste too, eh?" he had said, raising a large eyebrow. Francis flashed him a bright smile and laid the money due on the counter. He smelled of wine and roses, an odd combination that managed to work. As he opened the till to grab some change he felt his face begin to burn under the Frenchman's scrutiny. When he gave him the money Francis took it muttering a small, "Merci" then left quickly. Arthur stared out the door after him, what a strange man. Then he had noticed the paper. The large rolled up piece that had been under Francis's arm when he entered the store was now resting on the counter in front of him. On it, scrawled in neat hand writing were the words "Open me." And so Arthur had. After he did he had closed the shop for the rest of the day. It had been a painting. A painting of his bookstore. The details were flawless and it could almost be mistaken for a photograph. Inside the window you could see him, standing with crossed arms, staring right out the window. A note had fluttered out of it asking him to come over for a drink that night. He had. And he did for the next night, and the next. He kept going for the rest of the year. Arthur hadn't meant to fall in love with another man, but love is a journey and you never know where it will take you. Yes, Arthur would stay up to all hours with Francis, every night. Then he moved into the flat upstairs and they could spend as much time as they liked together. This nightly tradition brought a new spark to Arthur.

Then there was the night that Francis never came home. Then there was the next night when it happened again. Then there was the night when Arthur asked him about his disappearances. Then there was the night that he found out that there was another man. Then there was the night they broke up. Then there was the night he burned the painting.

After that Arthur was distant, Elizabeta (A part time employee) had even said so herself and she insisted he take a long vacation somewhere. Arthur had always harbored a passion for photography and decided to drive into London and catch the next flight to Mexico. He recalled Francis coming to see him before he packed up his car. The man had begged for forgiveness and said, "We were everything!" It was then that Arthur froze. He slowly turned to face his ex and spat at him, "We were everything; you were nothing." It was then and there that he decided he would drive North and go as far as he could, stopping to take a picture wherever he could find a view or a noteworthy place. Sometimes on the way he would meet other photographers that would point him towards another stop, and that was how he decided where to rest next.

So now, here he was. Alone. Sitting on a road in the middle of nowhere. For the first time in a long time he felt focused and at peace. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, content to listen to the sounds of the rain. It was so peaceful. So beautiful here. The quiet was indescribable. There was just the sound of his breathing in his ears…

…And then there was the sound of tapping on the window.

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RIGHT ON! THE FIRST CHAPTER IS UP! I'VE CHECKED THROUGH FOR TYPOS SO IF THERE ARE ANY MISTAKES THEN YOU CAN BLAME

Please read and review!


	2. Looks Like Rain

Here I have chapter 2! Hope y'all enjoy it! Be warned! There are mentions of abuse in this chapter so if you are affected by those triggers you may not want to read!

Please review I worked very hard on this.

ALLONS-Y!

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Jolted from his thoughts, Arthur whipped his head to his window to see just who was mad enough to be out in this kind of weather. He relaxed slightly when he saw a pale girl staring back at him.

She had short blonde hair that was currently plastered to her cheeks and a large grin splashed across her face. She waved casually at him and called louder than necessary, "Hey, can I come in? It's a little wet out here!" The sarcasm was heaving in her voice and Arthur made a waving gesture with his hand, unwilling to roll down the window, beckoning her to get in the passenger side.

When she had slammed the door shut she sighed rather dramatically. Then she said, "Well, thank God I found someone out on this God forsaken road! I thought I was to be damned eternally, left to wander all by myself. Then I would die a lonesome death and no one but my lover would be left to search and mourn for me!"

"You must be American." Arthur said irritably, "There is no way you couldn't be after hearing that painfully dramatized speech." She turned and stuck out her tongue.

"And you must be a limey judging by your weird accent and the apparent stick up your ass."

She winked and laughed a bit at her own joke. Arthur felt his eye twitch slightly, this girl was good; tough. She held up a dripping, pulpy mess and placed it on the dashboard. "My map got a little wet and messed up out there."

"Just a little bit?" Arthur said, easing into the playful banter.

"Yeah," she said with a smirk, "It kind of reminds me of that mess of a caterpillar you've got going on with your fore head, Iggy."

"Catterpillar? Iggy?" He spluttered, "Where the bloody hell did you get the name Iggy from?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, it just came to me. Maybe," The girl whipped her head around to lean in and stare directly into his eyes, "It was meant to be." She whispered dramatically before cracking up and gasping for breath.

Frankly, Arthur didn't know what was so funny. While she caught her breath he examined her quickly. She wore a leather bomber jacket that looked way too big for her, the sleeves drooped over her hands and the material ended halfway down her thigh. Underneath her jacket was a grey shirt, now dark from being drenched with rain. Her short hair was wild, and had one part at the front that stubbornly stuck up in the air. Her eyes were the most beautiful aspect of her though; they were a deeper colour than Francis's had been, even prettier if possible. They were like the unending prairie skies he had seen while driving through Saskatchewan; they were heartwarming and filled with wanderlust.

When his companion sat up she looked at him and her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh my God, we haven't introduced each other yet!" She held out a hand to Arthur, "I'm Amelia Jones, nice to meet'cha!" Arthur took her hand and felt her squeeze his own uncomfortably tight. "Arthur Kirkland, a pleasure." Amelia sat up straight and shrugged off her bomber jacket.

"Now that we've finished the formalities I can finally change." She grabbed the hem of her grey shirt and was about to pull it over her chest when Arthur stopped her.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!"He screeched.

Amelia looked at him curiously. "I'm soaking wet and I really don't catch a cold so I am taking off my shirt so I can dry off a little."

Arthur shook his head; was this woman an idiot? "Think a little, Amelia. You are on a lonely back road, in a thunder storm, in a car with a man you have never met before. It would be so easy for you to be taken advantage of right now, it's not even funny!"

Amelia lifted her chin and defiantly stared him down, "Thanks for warning me you're a perv and all, Iggy, but I think I could handle you. I've beaten off a few creeps bigger than you." In one fluid movement she pulled off her shirt and put her large bomber jacket on herself, shivering slightly. It was obvious that this girl was going to give him a head ache when all was said and done.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you any manners?" He asked sharply, "Also why would they let someone as young as you go around the country like this? They mustn't care all too much."

He saw her bite her lip nervously before answering, "Well…" She started out slowly, "In orphanages they kind of expect you to know your manners when you go into the system at the age I did." Arthur immediately felt guilty for bringing up the subject, but Amelia ploughed on, "I met this one girl, she was the same age as me, said the same thing you did. But she turned out to be great, y'know? It's funny how that happens. I hated her at first but then came to love her. Her name's Maddie. She was always smiling; she had glasses and this gorgeous, long hair. She was my only friend there, all the other kids were either too young or hated me." Arthur saw her hands ball up into fists, "Maddie was in a wheelchair; apparently there was a car accident that killed her parents and crippled her. Anyways, we always had this plan that we'd go travelling together all around the world and take lots of pictures and live together… "Amelia paused. The silence was filled with the pattering of rain and a large clap of thunder. The emotion that was conveyed in that one moment was breath taking. Her shoulders drooped and the tremble in her voice was evident, "Then she got adopted."

It came out as barely a whisper.

"They were nice folks, from Canada. Maddie was fifteen when it happened. Before she left she called out for me and said 'Amy! Carry out the plan! I'll go with you if you can find me!'" Amelia was shaking now and her hair covered her face. Arthur was sure she was crying, Hell, he was almost in tears too!

"T-that night I ran away from the orphanage and t-tried to go after her. I remember sk-skinning my legs when I tripped, but I kept going. The next day I was picked up on the side of the road by a cop car. When I got back…well…Let's just say Mrs. Braginski left me with a few more scrapes and bruises."

Arthur didn't know how to react. He sat with his back straight, wide, green eyes, gaping at the huddled up girl next to him. She couldn't be much older than eighteen or nineteen. His hand reached out and gently held her fisted, trembling one. She turned her head to look at him, he wasn't sure if it was water dripping from her hair or large tears that stained her cheeks but her blue eyes shone brightly in the darkness and she tried to manage a smile that ended up being a grimace. He suddenly found himself being tightly embraced and wrapped his own arms around her back, fiercely squeezing her. He felt her nuzzling her face into his neck and heard her whisper into his ear, "Thank you for listening. I've never told that to anyone."

The storm didn't look like it was due to stop anytime soon so Arthur moved them both to the back seat where he soon found himself staring out the window at the cold drizzle and his hand softly stroking the hair on Amelia's sleeping head. She was quite the character, he mused. Maybethey could sort things out in the morning. His heavy eyelids fell closed and his own head fell against the cool window.

They were both sound asleep.


End file.
